Perdue Oven-Stuffer Commuters

Strategically undesirable train seat today but really, my building elevator is slow as mole-asses so it took a lot of time to get to the lobby today and out the door. Ended up huffing to Penn, then huffing some more to the last few cars where there were still a few seats to be had and STILL ended up in a 2-seater where the blimp next to me with his arm liberally coated with saw-dust is taking up half my seat with his ample thigh meat. If he was an oven-stuffer roaster I'd eat him...with a side of fava beans....

Air Con

In response to the record high temperatures, the LIRR in its infinite wisdom (and ability to waste money) has jacked up the air conditioning so high on trains that I think I just lost 2 toes to frostbite on my morning ride in. Of course, as soon as the doors open at Penn, I will be shortly suffering from heat exhaustion and missing toes means I won't be able to exit the station quickly.  Bummer.

To SBD or not to SBD...

OMFG....some guy one row up on the aisle seat just detonated an atomic bomb. I think by the way he was studiously looking out the window with a blush of bright red creeping up his neck that this explosion was, in fact, supposed to be an SBD....only the force of exit caused a loud squeal against the rubber of the seat that was unmistakable. I hope this poor bastard doesn't have internal damage.....

Unbelievable

Some uncouth heathen decided it would be a good idea to eat a hot dog on the train. I'm not sure what else I could add here....

Curry, Redux

My middle seat mate smells like he took a bath in curry-scented garlic. And he's been leaning on me for the last 30 mins. I spilled a little coffee on the tail of his shirt *cough* by accident, of course. Hey, if I'm going to remain civilized enough NOT to elbow him in the ribs, I have to have some sort of recompense for my troubles.....

Urban Survival Episode

The guy up front is hacking and coughing. I think his lung just fell out of his mouth onto his laptop. Either that or it's a hairball. Either way, not lookin good for the home team. I bet if Bear Grylls was doing an Urban Survival show about the LIRR he's use this guy's lung as a hammock, or he'd eat it raw.

Danger Signs

There are two loud, gum-smacking, opinionated broads, on the sunny side of middle age, and sitting center car. I fear violence will soon be ensuing. This species of commuter is an anomaly, a glitch in the Matrix if you will. These carefree thrill-seekers know but willfully choose to disregard the rules of the rail. They talk too loudly, they express their dubious insight and trade sage wisdoms back and forth, loosely based on what one can only assume is their vast knowledge of the world, its many cultures and all current events. As to keeping the decibels down to a dull roar, well, these risk-takers....they just don't care. They repeatedly ignore warning signs like the all-too-familiar disapproving cough, they dismiss the exceptionally-loud paper rustle, and the many dirty looks. They choose not to recognize the angry hum of a mob starting to form. These bold, reckless commuters are not only a danger to themselves, but also to others should things get ugly.  An innocent bystander could be injured by an eye-dart and a particularly vicious glare has been known to cause multiple contusions and even blood loss. I think we are fast approaching Defcon 3...we are too close for missiles, we're switching to guns, Goose...

Got Milk?

We have a momma's boy with us today. Well, I believe this poor slob is really a browbeaten, hen-pecked husband, but I can't be absolutely sure.  I just quietly observed him carrying on a conversation with someone who spoke so loudly on the other end that one would think the cell phone was on loudspeaker. Well, to make a long story short....there was a whole lotta talk about milk. Yep, you heard me. This guy has been firmly instructed....no, rather charged with the sacred duty of obtaining a gallon of milk on his way home. It is possible that he has failed at this noble venture before, hence the emphatic, loud and repeated exaltations on the other end of the phone to achieve success. I'm not sure why this woman was so loud, as clearly we could have rioted and injured her husband in punishment for her big mouth and the breaking of the auditory peace. Perhaps she believes if the rest of the car knows he is supposed to get milk on the way home, we might give him a final reminder before we all disembark the train?

Holy Moley

I'm not sure what classification this one goes in....perhaps just as a scientific curiousity or maybe a sideshow. Anyhow, I chose wisely today and I'm on an end-cap of a 3-seater with *ahem* extremely big-boned woman on the window. She's fully decked out in Pepto-Bismol pink and the one wrist that is exposed shows several too-small gold bracelets struggling to remain clasped while being separated by individual rolls of fat. After we hit the tunnel she fell asleep in such record time one would suspect narcolepsy. It is then that, as her head shifted towards me, I observed her opposite cheek sported an Uncle Buck-sized facial mole, adorned with 4 long hairs. Yes, it was so big I could count them even out of the corner of my eye because, you know, its not polite to stare. As she took it down for her first REM cycle, her mouth flopped open and the intake of each breath caused the 4 mole hairs to be gently bent inwards. Each exhale made them flip the other way, waving madly but in a tight, almost choreographed formation....sort of like the follicular equivalent of the Electric Slide. Actually, I just realized I am staring now....ah well, manners can't take precedence over the serious journalistic reporting I'm doing here anyway.  The public has to know these things...

Assault with a Dreadly Weapon

Its only 8:35AM on this fine Thursday morning and I've already been assaulted by dreadlocks. Its kind of like a jellyfish attack, there's not much you can do but hope it ends soon so you can pursue medical attention. I have a rasta bobble head in the middle of my three-seater and while I can appreciate her need to sleep, I am getting ready to administer my third shoulder-bump of the morning, immediately followed by the tight-eyebrow glare AND conclude with the overly-loud-sigh-of-exasperation. That's my Mortal Kombat-esque finishing move, I gots me no more in the tool box of trainride weaponry after this.

If she still continues this behavior, I'll have to see about tag-teaming with the guy on the end seat who just got bobbled from the other direction. We just exchanged a very expressive mutual eye-roll, so at least I know I'm not the only soldier in this battle. 

I'm sure Rumsfeld never imagined a theater of war could exist on a passenger train.  Perhaps I should write an op-ed for the Pentagon on evasive maneuvers and tactical strategy.  I'm sure West Point will be calling any minute now, so I'll be keeping the lines free. 

Biblical Groundhog Day

Bible lady again for like the third time in a month, bright purple bag, blood red nails, little hat affixed slightly askew. I think we are becoming friends, you know, the kind that don't talk or know each other's names. She's a damn middle seat sitter, thus inviting just any old person to sit on the end cap. No strategy, no game play, she folds before the hand even starts. Maybe the middle seat has some special significance, perhaps its holy. The Church of the Middle Seat. Hallelujah! Praise the MTA!

Cakeburgler

On the train in a 3/2 seat combo facing a guy who has two huge bakery boxes on his right knee, just inches from my hands. He's telling the guy next to him that he's a bakery wholesaler and opened the box to show him the goods. He is now describing some sort of chocolate layered torte to this guy. I'm quietly trying to pretend like I'm not eavesdropping but the telltale puddle of drool on my knee is a dead giveaway

Space Invaders

Yeah, you read me right but I'm not talking about the vintage 80's video game. I'm talking about the living (mouth)breathing type of Space Invader. On a train car, that manifests itself in several ways. One common type of Space Invader is the inevitable Leaner. These creatures typically get on at Farmingdale just when you think you escaped a middle-seatmate and squeeze in the middle of your triple. Even though they seem to have some leeway on the starboard side, they lean on you anyway.  You are forced to wage a silent and unacknowledged battle for elbow room. By switching your travel mug to your center arm and taking frequent sips of coffee, the constant friction of your jacket sleeve can deplete their life force and cause them to retreat back to their allotted space. Another well-known type of space invader is the Lap-Bagger. These are the people who rest their laptop bags on their laps upon being seated and promptly fall into an immediate coma. Only then do you realize that the diameter of their bag exceeds their lap size and they have hangage over each side. These creatures also tend to leave their shoulder straps dangling to fwap maddeningly against your kneecap. Gentle nudging of the hangage of their bag, closely timed with the swaying of the train so you aren't caught, is the way to combat this creature. Of course you may earn the ire of the passenger on the other side who now has even more excess hangage, but you can feel proud at your bold move in striking first, and be sure that guy is probably blogging about you and the fact that you ruined his day anyway.

The Messiah

One of those religious sorts got got on in Brentwood today. She's sitting in front of me and holding a printed card in her hand I can clearly see from my seat that proclaims "You Are the Generation to See the Messiah Come". Trust me when I say she doesn't look Jewish, and I thought we were the only ones still waiting for this dude to get here. Wait, she just pulled out an appointment book and started wildly flipping through dates and pages, while speaking loudly on her cell phone in tongues. Okay it sounds suspiciously like English overlaid with a thick Caribbean accent, but speaking in tongues sounds more biblical and authentic for this bit anyway. Holy cow, I just thought of something.  Perhaps SHE'S the messiah and she's trying to figure out which date is best to arrive. I would have thought the Messiah would be using Outlook Calendars to plan the big day though, perhaps synching with a Blackberry and letting everyone know he (or she) was finally here via Twitter or FaceBook.  Disappointing....

Sweaters

Yes we have sweaters today. And not the wooly garments we all don in cold weather. The Statue of Liberty's inscription says something about "huddled masses yearning to breathe free". Well if there was a monument for the LIRR it would have something about "sweating masses yearning to breed germs" carved into it, I'm sure. Of course, if the LIRR was building a commemorative monument to itself, we all know it would be delayed due to track space and perhaps even move slowly through Jamaica due to switch problems and slip-slide conditions. (sorry, couldn't resist) Anyway, back to sweaters. For those of you lucky enough drive to work, when passengers wait for trains down on the platform it can get quite steamy. After everyone is seated and well-defrosted, the sweaters start sweating. And they don't stop once on board where it is temperature-controlled. Not quite sure what proper etiquette is, do we offer these poor, dripping wretches a ShamWow or just pretend we don't notice and hope to stay dry?

Mystery Puddles and Other Unexplained Phenomena

So, there's a mystery puddle right in the center of the row with rivulets snaking out in all directions. It wasn't there when we left the station and yet, nobody is claiming ownership. In fact, passengers have their respective heads bent in studious denial, thus avoiding the few of us most affected swiveling our heads like the Exorcist to try to identify the culprit. The bottom of my bag has now become soaked in this unidentified train juice. I just shot a well-aimed eye dart at the guy two rows up on the right. He caught my gaze, flinched appropriately and then sadly shook his head. Okay, it obviously wasn't him, but I'm sure he has done something in the past to deserve the occular beatdown. We really need to establish a passenger-run P.B.I. outfit to investigate these claims as we all know the MTA has no more money to fund their own official one. At $300 for a monthly per person times millions of passengers plus shady accounting and change of regime every time they are close to being outed, its easy to see how they have no money. Soon Sally Struthers will be pitching us to pledge just $1 a day to feed our conductors, I'm sure.

Freeloaders

My grandma was famous for saying "beggars can't be choosers". I elect to upgrade that expression to "beggars can't be truthful". This is how broke freeloading riders are stepping up their game and bringing it in 2010. Guy wanders up the aisle today loudly asking anyone if they can spare change, he just needs money for a ticket. Then he quickly goes on to announce that he is (get this) not panhandling...he's just unemployed and just trying to get to his job. I'm not sure how you can be unemployed and commuting to work at the same time, perhaps he didn't really think that one through. Or just underestimated the mental acuity of us morning commuters. So, of course in the spirit of apathy, nobody on my train car looks up to meet his eye. Or offers any money. I kind of felt bad for the guy actually, I feel like he should have told a joke or done a little dance...you know, earn it. I debated whether to make that suggestion but in the time it took for my neurons and electrons to finish firing, the conductor lectured him about theft-of-services and threw him off at Farmingdale. Can you even imagine the serious street cred this guy could have had if he just let himself be arrested for theft-of-services? He came very close, he could have been locked up in a SuperMax with turnstyle jumpers and jaywalkers....and maybe the guys who sell bootleg CDs on the corner.

Nose Whistlers

There is a huge construction worker next to me, carpenters union from the looks of it (and the pine shavings clinging to his denim jeans) and he has a major nose whistle. I'm talking a Mach-3 military-grade industrial noise pollution 5AM factory nose whistle. And he's sleeping. I'm not about to wake a sleeping giant..., so I'm going to send the LIRR my medical bill for the two perforated ear drums and hearing aids...

The Puffer (stencherys gasii)

This species of commuter would be known as Crop Dusters if they were ambulatory.  As on the train they are seated and stationary, they are deemed Puffers.  These creatures tend to be female and inhabit end seats, thus blocking the possible escape of captives.  Puffers generally appear desperately normal, thus lulling their prey into a relaxed state before they strike with their olfactory missiles. This species is characterized by frequent rearranging of belongings in lap.  This behavior is designed as camouflage but instead just produces a wafting effect which disperses the nose bombs uniformly across the row of seats. Due to their dubious cover as normal people, Puffers cannot be avoided usually.  However, disdainful glares will produce an acceptable and satisfying level of shame. If you can still see them through your watering eyes, that is...